Page 9 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
Cal is on the floor.
At first, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. He’s shirtless, crouched low, muscles cut in sharp relief under wet skin. Seawater drips from him in long rivulets. And from somewhere deeper—his back, his hips, his sides—tentacles rise and twist and unfurl.
They’re long and slick, dark as oil and moving like they have minds of their own. Which… maybe they do. I’m no tentacle expert, regardless of my background. One drags along the floor and coils in on itself. Another flinches, jolting back toward his skin as if it’s been injured.
Did it just… sense me?
Cal’s head jerks up and our eyes meet. He stills.
It feels like this is the moment I should scream, butI don’t. I’m not sure there’s air left in my lungs. His face is twisted in something that looks like pain. When his mouth opens, it takes him a second to speak, like he has to consciously articulate the words.
“Leave,” he growls. “Get out.Now.”
I’m rooted to the spot. I couldn’t move if I tried. I’m not in control of my body. My eyes scan over him. Tension coils impossibly tighter in his frame until he’s almost vibrating.
“Please, Neviah.” His voice is strained, verging on something like shame. “Pleasego.”
My stomach drops.
I step forward. Just one slow, careful pace across the damp floor. A floorboard sinks under my foot, giving a soft whine that lingers in the quiet.“Are you okay?”
He huffs a low, sharp sound, almost like a laugh. “Do Ilookokay?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “This is… new to me. But I’d like to know if you’re not.”
He stares at me but doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t know how, which is fair, because this is a little surreal. For me, at least. Maybe not for him. Who knows how many unsuspecting marine biology dropouts he’s ensnared.
I glance at the nearest tentacle. It twitches near his hip, anchored there. I swallow, but my throat feels like it’s filled with sand. “Can I touch you?”
The breath he drags in is audible. He tenses even further, somehow, the muscles in his jaw pulling so tight they jump. “Why would you want to do that?”
I roll my shoulders in a slow shrug. “I don’t know. I just do. Can I?”
He moves first, instead of giving me an answer. I stay stock still as one of the tentacles stretches out from his hip and brushes against my fingertips, warm and smooth. It’s not slimy in a gross way, which surprises me a little.
It’s not what I expect, which is an absurd thing to think in and of itself, since I’ve never really expected to encounter tentacles in my life at all outside work, let alone physically attached to andcontrolled by a man who looks like Cal.
Ishe even a man?
I file the question away for later.
“They’re soft.” I turn my hand over slowly, flattening my palm. “Can you feel me?”
He lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan. “I can feel you even when you’re not touching me.”
My pulse kicks. “And when I am?” I sound out of breath, although I’m certain I’ve never stayed still this long in my life. The tentacle smooths over my palm, over the fluttering beat at the inside of my wrist, gliding up my forearm.
His answer is barely a whisper. “Yes.”
I take another step toward him, slow and careful. I don’t know if I need to be worried about spooking him. My thighs are slick; I notice it as I move, and my breath hitches high in my chest. “Will you keep going?”
He glances at me almost reprovingly, but another tentacle curls toward me. This one seems to come from behind him, maybe anchored in his spine. It moves as if it’s reaching for my face. I tip my chin up slightly, baring my neck on purpose.
Cal makes a tiny, tortured sound I can’t decipher.
He strokes across my cheek, slow and soft, then trails that feather-light touch down the column of my neck. Goosebumps erupt all over me, prickling over my scalp. The hair on the back of my neck lifts.
The tentacle probing my arm slides back down to wrap around my wrist. Now it’s my turn to make my own needy little sound. Cal’s breath stalls.
